


Worse Than Vogon Poetry

by parapraxis



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford reveals the true reason he saved Arthur from the destruction of Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worse Than Vogon Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Based off of the BBC TV version of HHGTTG with Simon Jones and David Dixon. Please ignore any typos.

The Earthman yawned wide and long, blinking his eyes rapidly. He glanced at his digital watch before remembering it was pointless. The Earth was gone; time—as he knew it—no longer held any real meaning. He wondered just how long it had been since he’d slept…He’d woken up, saw the bulldozers ambling up the drive towards his home, lain in front of them in protest until noon when Ford had popped round, they’d gone to the pub, his house had been knocked down, and then—oh yes—the Vogons had shown up. Arthur had given up on comprehension and mere sanity for all the events that had followed. He’d found out his best friend was an alien, they’d hitched a lift onto a spaceship, his planet had been destroyed, he’d been thrown out of an airlock into space, then picked up by another ship one second before they’d both died of asphyxiation. 

What a terribly strange series of events and coincidences. He rubbed his head as the memories of the day’s proceedings rolled around in his brain, trying to find a place to fit in within his personal sphere of normal day-to-day experiences.

“I really need some tea about now.” He found himself saying for probably the millionth time.

A groan came from across the room and Arthur vaguely saw Ford nudge his semi-cousin before Zaphod shut both of his mouths and turned his attention back to what Arthur assumed was some sort of intergalactic tabloid. Ford came over and sat across from Arthur at the large oval table he’d taken residence at.

“How are you feeling?”

Arthur looked across the table at Ford, who appeared—as always—so infuriatingly indifferent that Arthur simply wanted to throttle him. “How am I feeling?” Arthur asked indignantly. “How do you think I feel? I’ve lost my home, my dog, my family and friends, and my entire planet all over the course of an afternoon. I’ve learned that there’s—there’s—“ How exactly did one explain that there was an entire universe of happening life he’d previous been unaware of? How did you explain spaceships and aliens and hyperspace and Vogons and that damnable book of Ford’s? He felt like his mind was going to explode from the sheer hilarity of it all.

Ford smiled that irritatingly large smile of his. “You haven’t lost everything. You’ve still got me, haven’t you?”

“Some consolation.” Arthur snapped back, not noticing how Ford’s smile wavered. “Of all the insignificant people you might have saved from the destruction of the Earth…why the hell did you pick me, Ford?”

Ford was quiet for a long moment, looking at Arthur with unblinking, unnaturally blue eyes. He raised his shoulders in a shrug and dropped them heavily. “Just seemed like a thing to do, I suppose.”

Arthur sputtered, trying to form some sort of response around his indignation, but finally gave up and pushed away from the table, muttering to himself about needing to have a lie down. Ford watched him go with a slight frown.

“The monkey has a point,” Zaphod said, tossing down his rag. “Of all the apes on Earth you could have picked…you picked _him_? I’ve been to Earth, Ford—that’s where I picked up Trillian. There were a million people a quazillion times more fascinating than him. What were you thinking?”

Ford felt his cheeks turning red as he tried to shrug nonchalantly. “He saved my life once; felt I owed him, I guess.”

Zaphod rolled one set of eyes. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be working on my tan.”

Ford’s eyes fell on the gleaming white surface of the table as Zaphod left the room. He’d been dreading the inevitable question of why he’d chosen to save Arthur. It was true that there had been a time when Arthur had saved his life, but that wasn’t the entire truth.

“You care for him, don’t you?” A small feminine voice asked.

Ford had forgotten that Trillian was still in the room. He looked up as she came and sat across from him where Arthur had been. There was a sweet, almost sad, smile on her prettily painted face. Her eyes sparkled behind the pink and blue eyeshadow.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell him or Zaphod if you don’t want.”

“Of course I like him,” Ford quipped, his smile returning brightly. “He’s my friend.”

Trillian gave him a knowing look. “Maybe Zaphod thinks it’s unhip to admit you care about someone, but even he can’t hide how he feels. You feel for Arthur what Zaphod feels for me.”

“And what, exactly, is that?”

“You’re in love with him.” Trillian said simply.

Ford shook his head vigorously. “No. No, definitely not. Love is complicated and messy and pointless. Someone always ends up with at least one broken heart. Besides, I’m a field researcher for The Guide, love isn’t what I do. No. Arthur’s my friend, my colleague, my pal. We’re comrades, mates—“

“Are you trying to convince me,” Trillian interrupted, “or yourself?” 

Ford blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to respond, only to find himself effectively speechless. He closed his mouth again and sat back in his chair with quiet resignation. “How did you know?”

“Of all the people on Earth you could have saved,” Trillian smiled, “you saved him. A bit obvious, I think.”

“A bit pointless, more like.” Ford said, trailing his fingers across the smooth surface of the table. “It’s not exactly like I’m his type, or even that he’s grateful that I saved him, or that anything will ever come out of anything at all, really.”

“How do you know?” Trillian asked. “He doesn’t even know yet.”

“After all he’s been through,” Ford said, uncharacteristically thoughtful, “I hardly think hearing I’m an alien and that I fancy him in the same day is something he’s capable of coping with.”

Trillian reached across the table and squeezed his hand., her eyes trailing up from his to the door just beyond his shoulder, her face fell a little. “Oh…”

Ford felt his heart skip a beat, knowing that Arthur would be standing there before he turned in his seat to see the Earthman staring at him with a bewildered expression. “ _You what_?!” Arthur nearly screeched.

Ford was on his feet instantly, “Listen, Arthur, I can explain.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your explanations,” Arthur said thrusting his finger into Ford’s chest, effectively halting the smaller man. “Is _that_ why you saved me? You _fancy_ me? You can’t be serious! _You_!?”

“Arthur,” Ford called, realizing Arthur was dangerous close to having a breakdown. “Don’t panic. It’s—“

“Don’t panic!?” Arthur shrieked, then at a loss of how to voice his thoughts, he pulled his fist back and punched Ford, sending the Betelgeusian sprawling on the floor. 

Ford raised his hand to his nose, drawing back fingers covered in blood. He stared at the bright red fluid on his fingertips for a very long minute, trying to comprehend the fact that mild-mannered Arthur Dent had actually struck him. Arthur seemed to be trying to comprehend this fact as well because his demeanor suddenly changed.

“Oh…my God…Ford…” He took a meager step towards his friend, but upon remembering what he’d overheard, changed his mind. “I think…I should go…I’m—I’m terribly sorry.”  
Arthur fled from the room for a second time and Trillian knelt behind Ford, bracing his back against her as she pulled the pocket square from his jacket and held it against his nose. He tipped his head back against her shoulder and looked up at her. “Well…I suppose that’s one way of breaking the news to him.”

\--

Arthur had returned to the kitchenette to ask exactly where he _could_ lie down, as they hadn’t been given any sort of accommodations once they’d come on board. He had never expected to overhear a conversation in which Ford would be saying anything along the lines of fancying him. Even now, as he sat back in a purple lounger in the engine room he and Ford had first found themselves in, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around that concept. Ford? Fancied him?

Sure, Ford had always been a bit strange, but he’d never given Arthur any indication of ever having fancied him…had he? Arthur quickly reviewed his six year history with the not-from-Guilford-after-all man. He could never recall Ford ever having a girlfriend—not a steady one anyways—but anytime he’d ever seen Ford hit it off with someone, it’d always been a girl. Of course, more often than not, Ford would end up too drunk to leave with anyone but Arthur, and only then because Arthur had literally had to drag the other man home, letting Ford pass out on his couch. 

“I’m beginning to think I don’t know him at all.” Arthur said to the empty room.

“Ask me anything.” Ford’s voice came softly from the open doorway, giving Arthur a sudden start.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur said vehemently, but his anger quickly dissipated. He was far too tired to carry on at this point, and he simply felt fussy. 

“I came to see if you’re alright.” Ford said simply, crossing into the room and carefully sitting next to Arthur in one of the loungers, still dabbing at his nose with his pocket square.

Arthur felt guilt bubble up in his gut as he saw the blood stains on the bright orangey-yellow silk square. “I’m sorry for hitting you. I don’t know what came over me.”

Ford gave an indifferent shrug, remaining silent for a long moment. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

Arthur released a heavy jet of air through his nostrils as he felt himself relaxing a small bit. “I know…but…is that really why you saved me?”

Ford folded the pocket square neatly, using the time to collect his thoughts. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to sit around and make a list of the people I might like to save, you know. By the time I worked out what was about to happen, I knew I didn’t have much time. You were the only person who came to mind. You’ve been my best friend—my only friend, really—since I got stuck on the Earth. Sure, I knew people, but…well…you’re the only one that really mattered, the only one I wanted to take with me, the only one I’d ever wanted to tell everything to.”

“Why didn’t you?” Arthur asked, knowing he never would have believed Ford—hadn’t, even, until they’d found themselves on the Vogon ship. Ford seemed to take this as a rhetorical question and he half turned in his lounger to look at Arthur.

“What do you want to know about me?” He asked, going back to Arthur’s earlier ponderings.

Arthur found himself unable to break away from Ford’s overly bright blue gaze, the silence stretching between them a fraction longer than was necessary. “Oh…well…what is your actual name? I can’t imagine with a semi-cousin like Zaphod Beeblebrox that your parents would have named you after some kind of car found on some supposedly primitive planet light-years away from your own and probably long before its own eventual existence.”

Ford smiled at that. “Well, actually, it is Ford Prefect, but only because I had it changed in the galactic records. My father named me in Praxibetel tradition after our home world collapsed under a Hrung, but since it was only pronounceable in a really obscure dialect, I never learned how to say it properly. He actually died of shame.” Ford added almost as an afterthought.

“That’s terrible.” Arthur found himself saying, then furrowed his brow. “What’s a Hrung?”

“I’ve no idea.” Ford told him. “No one knows exactly, but since my father was the only survivor from our planet, the kids in school used to tease me about it. They used to call me Ix, which in Betelgeusian, means ‘boy who is not able satisfactorily to explain what a Hrung is, nor why it should choose to collapse on Betelgeuse Seven.’”

“But if they didn’t also know, how could they make fun of you for it?”

Ford gave another indifferent shrug. “I was the last descendent from Betelgeuse VII; being the last from your home planet tends to make you a bit of an outcast.”

“Don’t I know it.” Arthur said somewhat indignantly, then paused. “Are there other Earthlings out there besides Trillian and myself?”

“It’s possible. Certainly the Earth wasn’t unknown in the Universe, but no one had really bothered going there to visit because The Guide didn’t have much to say about it, so the chances of other humans getting off the planet before you and I left is about as probable as you and I getting picked up by this ship one second before we asphyxiated in space.”

“Oh.” Arthur said, a little distraught by the thought that his species might truly become extinct after he and Trillian had perished. 

“Listen,” Ford said as Arthur fell silent, “it’s been a pretty heavy day. Perhaps you ought to try and get some sleep.”

“That’s what I’d been planning on when I came back to the kitchen.” Arthur said, the anger flaring again momentarily. “I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“Oh. Right. Well, come on, I’ll show you. I saw the ship’s layout in the schematics I was reading earlier.”

Arthur followed Ford out in the corridor, where they walked shoulder-to-shoulder—or rather shoulder to chest as Ford was quite a bit shorter than Arthur—in silence. Arthur thought about what Ford had said, that he and Trillian might possibly be that last living humans. This ultimately led to thoughts of whether or not he would ever find someone to grow old with, like his mother had always hoped. He wondered what women of far off galaxies might look like and if they might find him interesting, or if he’d just be stuck hitchhiking around the universe with Ford for the rest of his life. He supposed there were worse people to be stuck with. He liked Ford, they got on well, and—all things considered—Arthur didn’t think he would mind growing old with Ford. 

_Sounds like a relationship to me._ His brain supplied, filing his mind’s eye with vivid images of what it might be like to be with Ford. 

_I really am tired._ He decided, horrified. They came to a stop midway towards a section of corridor that led to the bridge and Ford considered several doors for a long moment before he tapped a button on one of them. It opened with a sigh to reveal a darkened room. Ford poked his head in to find the light, which slowly glowed to life around another gleaming white room with a gleaming, large white bed. Arthur sighed in relief and followed Ford into the room, going immediately to the bed to test out its relative softness by sitting on the edge.

“Well.” Ford said with his usual wide grin. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

The Betelgeusian turned to leave.

“Stay.” Arthur found himself inexplicably saying. Quickly, he tried to puzzle this out verbally. “I—I—I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night and not know where anyone or anything is, or to suddenly find you’ve all gone off and left me on my own.”

Ford moved towards Arthur, setting his bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed before he sat directly beside his friend, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Arthur.”

Arthur slowly looked at him, searching those impossibly blue eyes. “Promise?” 

Ford smiled, a little less manically. “Promise.”

And then he was kissing Arthur. It was a simple kiss, soft and gentle—the barest brush of lips—but it didn’t escape Arthur what this was. It also didn’t escape him that he not only wasn’t stopping Ford, but he was leaning into the kiss. It was Ford who broke away first.

“Let’s get some sleep.” He suggested with that lesser smile still pulling at his face.

Arthur was beyond argument, reason, or sanity at that point and could only nod in agreement, watching as Ford shucked that ridiculously loud blazer, followed by his argyle sweater, striped tie and the Hawaiian shirt.

“Good grief,” said Arthur as Ford was finally down to a plain white undershirt. “Do you always wear that many layers?”

Ford only grinned at him in reply as he bent to unlace his white high top sneakers before toeing out of them and shimming out of his trousers.

Arthur could never remember seeing Ford in such a state of undress, but he almost wasn’t surprised to see the alien was wearing purple socks and yellow boxers. It was enough to make him want to ask if Ford was actually colorblind, but then his alien friend moved round the side of the bed and began pulling the covers back. Arthur got up on shaking legs and moved round to his own side of the bed, his hands clenched around the knot in the tie holding his robe closed.

“Ford…” Arthur started, then whatever he’d been about to say left him.

“Yes?” Ford prompted at the silence.

“Er…I don’t remember.” Arthur grunted and yanked the knot free, letting his robe fall from his shoulders before he folded it in half and laid it across the foot of the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Ford and slid his feet out of his house shoes. That’s when it hit him again. “Ford…I don’t love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected from this declaration, but it certainly wasn’t the cool response that followed. “Who said anything about love?”

Arthur’s head turned round as far as it could to see Ford propped up on his elbow and looking at Arthur with something akin to amusement. “ _You_ did!”

“Me? When was this?” Ford looked genuinely surprised and screwed up his face as he tried to remember ever having said anything to do with loving anyone.

“Y-Y-You said you fancied me.” Arthur stuttered.

“Oh, that. Yeah, I did; I do.”

Arthur’s mouth worked to form an argument, before he gave up with a small sigh and closed his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Ford laughed quietly. “It’s simple, Arthur—“

“I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“Well, it is.” Ford reached up and grabbed Arthur’s shoulder, pulling him around until Arthur got into bed properly and leaned against the pillows, hands folded across his chest like a stubborn child. “Do you love every girl you chat up?”

“Well...no.” Arthur said, then added defiantly. “But it doesn’t mean I just want them to be a one off either.”

“Boy, it’s really black and white, isn’t it, with you?” Ford tried not to laugh. “Listen, I am keen on you, yes—we’ve established that. But that doesn’t mean that I love you. It doesn’t mean that I simply want a one off with you, either, though.”

“So you just want me around while it’s convenient.”

“Well…yeah.”

Arthur looked at him, hurt but not entirely sure why. “So when you’ve had enough, you’ll just leave me on some planet in the middle of nowhere and shove off with the next unsuspecting person?”

Ford sighed tiredly. “Not quite like that no. I rather expected it to be the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

For a long moment, Ford was quiet as he collected his thoughts. “I’m 200 years old, Arthur. Unless something happens to me, I’ll live another 200 years. You won’t. You’re human. One day—hopefully not for many years, but I can’t be sure—you’ll grow tired of traveling with me. You’ll want to slow down, find somewhere to live out the rest of your days, return to a normal life. And then you’ll die. So yes, I would like to carry on with you while I can, in whatever way I can, but love isn’t what I do. Love is messy and complicated and always leaves someone with at least one broken heart.”

Arthur blinked several times as he tried to assimilate everything Ford had just told him and prioritize the importance of which response came first. “I—I’m not sure what exactly I’m comfortable with yet. It’s been a very long day, Ford.”

“There’s no pressure.” Ford said with an indifferent shrug. 

For once, the alien’s indifference was comforting to Arthur and he found himself relaxing a little more, sinking down into the pillows. Ford called for the lights to turn themselves out, which they did gratefully, leaving the two men side by side in the bed.

Arthur opened his eyes in the darkness. “Ford…are you really 200 years old?”

“Go to sleep, Arthur.” Came the tired reply.

\--

Arthur was sure he must have slept because he found himself waking up to a dimly lit room and Ford sitting on the end of the bed, bending down to tie his shoes. He didn’t feel like he’d slept—having strange dreams of everything that had happened up to this point, and even more unsettling dreams that this had all been the product of an over-active imagination and long night of drinking, and that he was safely back at his home in Codington and all the upset had been for nothing.

“Where am I?”

“Hard to tell,” Ford said casually. “We’ve been asleep. Could be anywhere; probably are since we don’t know where we were to begin with.”

“What time is it?” Arthur asked as he glanced at his watch.

“Why?” Ford asked, looking over his shoulder at Arthur. “Would it matter if it were nine in the morning or 4 in the afternoon? Have you got somewhere to be?”

Arthur frowned. Ford was right. His previous sentiment of time being an illusion rang through his head. “No…it’s just…” He couldn’t explain it, and so he didn’t. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Would it be too much to ask for a bath?”

“It’s just through that door there,” Ford nodded his head to the opposite wall.

“Oh.” Arthur said, not having paid much attention to what else had been in the room besides the bed.

“I’m going down to the bridge to find out where Zaphod’s headed to. You’ll be alright?”

“I think I can manage a bath.” Arthur said indignantly.

Ford shrugged, then shouldered his satchel. “Alright. Just don’t push the blue button.”

“Why?” Arthur said, suddenly on the verge of panic. “What does the blue button do?”

Ford’s face broke out into that infuriating, mischievous grin and Arthur picked up a pillow and launched it at his friend. Ford ducked the soft missile, laughing, then left Arthur alone to wonder if there actually was a blue button that shouldn’t be pushed.

\--

“Hey, Ford, come over here!” Zaphod called as Ford reached the bridge. “You won’t believe what I’ve found."

Ford made his way up the ramp towards the rotating helm that served as the ship’s bridge and flopped down in a chair next to Zaphod, looking up at the visi-screen and the image of a brownish-purple planet. He immediately knew where they were. “No! Hexiterpin IV?! Wow! I mean, WOW! This is the hoopiest planet in the Quaxalon system! Arthur will love this place!”

Zaphod groaned. “You’re not seriously going to bring the monkey along are you? You used to be a real hoopy frood, Ford. I mean, anytime I told people we were semi-cousins, they’d always tell me how hoopy you were.”

“I still am.” Ford countered. “Arthur’s not so bad, Zaph, you’ll see. We just need to get him good and drunk so he’ll loosen up a bit.”

“He’s going to need a lot of alcohol.” Zaphod quipped.

“Don’t listen to him.” Trillian’s voice sounded as she joined them on the bridge, pinching one of Zaphod’s four ears and making him cringe. “He’s just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Zaphod laughed, looking up at Trillian. “Of what?”

“That you haven’t got Ford all to yourself.” Trillian said, crossing her arms.

Zaphod waved her off, grumbling. “Look up the coordinates for getting us down on the surface, will you?”

Trillian looked over the top of Zaphod’s heads and winked at Ford before moving off to another control panel. While Zaphod and Trillian busied themselves with the ship’s controls, Ford slipped off towards the kitchenette to find himself something to eat.

He had to admit that saving Arthur wasn’t exactly the hoopiest thing to do, but he wasn’t sorry for it. If the rest of the universe had a problem with it, why should he care? He’d never involved himself in S.E.P.’s and he wasn’t about to now. Arthur was his friend, he was here and that’s all Ford cared about.

 _Well, maybe not all._ His brain added as he sat at the table with a bowl of lumpy blue Seyfert Gruel. Ford considered everything that had happened the previous night—his conversation with Trillian, Arthur’s outrage, the punch that had, surprisingly, knocked him flat, Arthur being completely at a loss on just about everything, and Ford taking advantage of his uncertainty by kissing him. He knew it probably wasn’t the wisest thing, but Arthur hadn’t objected in the least. Ford poked at his gruel as he tried not to think about how he felt for Arthur. Feelings were too complicated, too dangerous, too messy. He’d allow that he liked Arthur, that they were friends, and that he wouldn’t mind having a steady shag for a while, but that’s where it had to stop.

The subject of his thoughts strode through the doorway, which sighed pleasantly at having been of service, and straight over the food processor. “Tea.” He told it for what seemed like the hundredth time, then proceeded to explain what tea was and how to make it.

Ford listened to Arthur argue with the machine for several minutes, quietly amused by Arthur’s insistence that he could get the damned thing to make him a cup of tea, but finally called it to a stop before Arthur took to beating it senseless. “Come off it, Arthur. It hasn’t got a clue was a tea leaf is and you’re likely to end up with a good cup of poison if you don’t leave it.”

Arthur sighed in resignation. “Couldn’t you have told me the Earth and every last tea leaf was going to be destroyed so that I might have packed a tin or two?”

Ford slurped down a bit of gruel. “There wasn’t time.”

Arthur sighed again. “No Earth, no tea. Next you’ll be telling me there’s no God or Heaven either.”

Ford decided that now was not the best time to break that news to his friend and stood up. “Listen, sit down, try some of my Seyfert Gruel—it’s really the best way to start the day. I’ll find you something that will be comparable to a cup of tea.”

“If you do that, I think I might kiss you.” Arthur said, then realized what he’d just offered. He looked up at Ford with wide eyes, his cheeks flaming red. The Betelgeusian grinned at him but made no comment and turned to the processor, tapping through the menu. Arthur sat at the table and looked at the bowl of blue mush with open disgust. “Ford…what _is_ this?”

“I told you,” Ford said distractedly. “Seyfert Gruel. It’s like a colder, bluer, lumpier version of oatmeal. Best thing they serve for breakfast in the Seyfert Galaxy. Trust me, your taste buds will love you for it.”

“That’s what you said about the Dentrassi’s food.” Arthur said skeptically, picking up Ford’s spoon and bringing a small amount of blue goop to his nose. It smelled vaguely of something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t altogether wholly unpleasant, and so—feeling quite hungry—he stuck the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh.” Arthur said in surprise, and scooped up another spoonful into his mouth.

“See,” Ford smiled towards him, then asked the processor for a cup of Alerian Glow Wine. A white mug of steaming reddish liquid materialized before him and he lifted it up, blowing across the top of it to cool it to a desirable drinking temperature before giving it a taste. It tasted vaguely of Earth cider, but there was just a tint of something else that could be mistaken as tea-like if you tried very, very hard. He brought the cup to Arthur. “Here.”

Arthur looked from the cup to Ford with skepticism, his lips slightly blued from the gruel. Ford couldn’t help but smile as he pushed the cup into Arthur’s hand.

“Go on,” he urged. “Try it.”

“I get the sense you’re going to be saying that an awful lot.” Arthur said as he sniffed the vapors rising from the ruby surface. He took a small sip of the drink, letting it roll around on his tongue for a long moment before he swallowed. It wasn’t tea, but it would certainly do. Ford was watching him expectantly but Arthur shook his head. “I’m not kissing you for this.”

That made Ford laugh and he took back his bowl of gruel as Arthur sipped his ‘tea’. They sat in companionable silence for a long moment before Ford remembered Zaphod’s find. “Say! I nearly forgot. The first place I’m taking you is going to be great; I mean _really_ great. It’s the most happening place in the universe, and that’s saying a lot!”

“Where is that exactly?”

“Hexiterpin IV. Anyone who’s ever been anyone has come here at one time or another. I’ve wanted to come here for ages, but I got stuck on the Earth.”

“What’s so great about it?”

“Think of New Years, Boxing Day, and the World Cup all rolled into one massive celebration and multiply that by infinity.” Ford told him.

Arthur blinked, unable to imagine the possibilities. “Sounds terrifying.”

“No, it’s great. You’ll love it!”

Silence fell over them again as Ford continued eating, and Arthur could no longer ignore the elephant in the room.

“Ford…about last night…”

“Yes?”

“I’m not entirely sure what to make of it.”

“What’s there to make? Nothing happened.”

“But you…”

“Yes?”

“Kissed me.” Arthur said flushing. Then, “Why?”

Ford shrugged a little. “Seemed like a thing to do. Why? Didn’t you like it? I’ve never had any complaints before.”

“That’s not the point.” Arthur said a little indignantly. “You hadn’t exactly given me much time to process the fact that life, as I knew it, had suddenly come to a screeching halt before you told me that you fancy me.”

“Well, to be fair, you weren’t supposed to hear that bit.”

“That’s hardly relevant at this point.”

Ford sighed tiredly. “Alright then…what do you want?”

“Sorry?”

“I said,” Ford said slowly, “what is it that you want?”

“Er…I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you figure it out, Arthur?” Ford said impatiently. “I saved your life and all you’ve done is complain about everything. Well, I’m tired of it. The least you could say is ‘Hey, thanks for not letting me disintegrate into a big pile of dust with the rest of my worthless species—‘“

“Excuse me!” Arthur declared heatedly, but Ford went on ranting as he stood up.

“But all you’ve done is say how squalid the Vogon ship was, how horrible the Dentrassi food was, how disgusting the Babel fish felt in your ear, how you were going to die with a headache, and how there’s no zarking tea!! You’ve gone on and on about the Earth as if it was the most happening spot in the entire Universe, but you’ve seen _nothing_ , Arthur. You didn’t even know aliens existed until I told you I was from Betelgeuse…and you didn’t even have the wits to believe me. Then—Well then you sock me for telling someone else how I feel, without ever hearing me say how _pointless_ my feelings even were, or how I hadn’t told you because I knew you well enough to know you couldn’t cope with that much after everything else.”

Arthur had never seen Ford so livid in the entire time he’d known him, and the realization that Ford was right made him feel very, very small. Before he could think of what to say, Ford swept passed him towards the door.

“You’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“Ford…” Arthur choked on his friend’s name, but Ford didn’t turn around.

Arthur sat there, staring after him even long after the door had closed with a sound of satisfaction.

 

TBC


End file.
